


The Song of Patrochilles

by carmiqhael (AndreUlliel)



Category: The Song of Achilles - Madeline Miller
Genre: M/M, Songfic, patrochilles - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-11
Updated: 2016-02-11
Packaged: 2018-05-19 18:18:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5976595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndreUlliel/pseuds/carmiqhael
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a story set to a song that is reminiscent of Patrochilles, their life, love and loss.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Song of Patrochilles

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Not made for profit of any kind. Italicised lines in paragraphs are borrowed from Madeline Miller's The Song of Achilles (you'd definitely recognise these lines!) ;)

Paris, that charming, unthinking prince of the Trojans, had set sail with Helen, the fairest woman in all of Sparta. Between them, strengthening their resolve, was the promise of a love fated by jealous, unscrupulous gods.

Beautiful Helen, whose looks were prized above all the ladies by the noblest of all the Greeks, was an almost forgotten queen. No passion, no pleasure, Helen’s life was almost a lost cause. Almost, if her beauty had not remained as an ornament to adorn her king and husband, the proud Menelaus.

She had no passion nor pleasure, not until the younger Trojan prince, Paris, alighted on Sparta. Helen’s escape under a maddening love affair with Paris was enough to smash the ego of Menelaus, and more than enough to give his avaricious brother, Agamemnon, an ammunition to start another war.

For all of Agamemnon’s covetousness, it was yet another reason to plunder and sack the unconquered city of Troy, and seal his name as a capturer of kingdoms. To meet his selfish ambition, Agamemnon had gathered a thousand Greek fleets, assembled all of Greece to fight in his name, and for his and his brother’s cause, with honor dangled as a promising bait to all the soldiers willing to lay off their lives for the greedy ambition of a few men.

Such greedy ambition, such selfishness was paid with the loss of innocence, and the cost amounted to lives and blood shed on land and sea that had seen far too much death.

Far too much indeed, for some had never wanted to be part of the war.

> ****__**_Do you remember standing on a broken field?  
> _** **_White crippled wings beating the sky_**  
>  **_The harbingers of war with their nature revealed_**  
>  **_And our chances flowing by_**

The sunlight was golden as it danced on the surface of the silver sea. The rays refracted from the crystal waters, and the light bounced off against the rocks, against the scattered pebbles and giving them the appearance of shining onyx glittering in the distance. The same sun casted an ethereal glow upon the sandy shore, turning the sand into the likeness of millions, billions of miniscule particles of gold.

Two pairs of legs rested entwined against each other, their forms lodging onto the rough sand beneath them. Two young men, their faces turned to the sea, their eyes once in a while seeking the skies, as if taking in all the vision of the world around them, imprinting the ambience of calm in their hearts, engraving the glorious morning birthed by nature in their minds.

If only time would stop, if only the gods would give in and, just this once, spare them from the cruel fate that awaited them, if only this enclave of Phthia could protect them from the bitter reality, if only they could be frozen in this moment now and forever, if only, if only…

“You and I will be together,” was the promise that passed between the two young men.

The brunet looked up, and looked into the face of the other beside him. His eyes searched the other’s, trying to detect even the slightest hint of panic or worry or fear in the emerald eyes looking back at his own.

There were none. There were only assurance and determination in them, as glory had been promised to him, a gift that crowned his golden head.

Achilles smiled, _and his face was like the sun_.

He emitted a light, a certain glow of divinity that could have blinded anyone, but not Patroclus. Patroclus had lived for that light, and for the very person it belonged to. Achilles leaned in, and in that playful, childlike manner of his laid his head against Patroclus’ chest, listening to the precious beating of the heart that spoke his name.

People would speak of his name long after he was gone, stories of his glory would be told and retold, hymns of his triumphs would be sung long after his time. He was _aristos achaion_ , best of the Greeks, and men and their wives and their children would whisper his name in awe and wonder. Troops and troops of soldiers would praise his valor and kneel at his commanding pose. Even the gods would take notice.

But none of those acclaim would ever mean as much to him as the affection he got from Patroclus. Every touch and caress, every glance, every beat of Patroclus’ heart was a promise to Achilles and it was enough to make him feel he owned the universe, enough to make him feel as if he was standing at the dawning of the age, where he and Patroclus could see no one else but the other.

Patroclus rested his head atop Achilles’, and the soft blond curls of Achilles tickled his cheek. He smiled, and closed his eyes.

It was the best they had of peace before the war, and the last they would ever have. For the war was a like thief, the very twin of death, stealing and snatching what precious life and love the mere mortals had to hold on to.

> **_If I can let the memory heal  
>  I will remember you with me on that field_ **

Another dawn broke. The sun rose on the coastline of the Trojan beach, warm and bright. Another day began, a day for siege, for battle and bloodshed. Another day, to avenge what was lost.

Achilles awoke, his eyes fluttering open and adjusting to the faint light of daybreak seeping inside his tent. He had just been dreaming, and he vividly remembered images of a sunny Phthia. In the recollections of the memories that haunted him, he saw patches of grassy mountains and flowering plants. He thought of the footprints he made in his run across the sandy shore, and with a slight sigh of nostalgia knew that the imprints of his carefree childhood had been washed away by every kiss the waves made on the coastline, and that every blowing wind had long ago resettled the sand.

He remembered ripe and juicy figs, sweet nectar, and the cream of salty cheese. In fact, he remembered everything of the years past.

As if a decade could pass like a quick waft of a breeze, a blink of an eye, Patroclus’ death had been a swift, unwelcomed surprise, a twisted fate, a cunning joke of the venal gods. The Trojan war was mere amusement to them all, a temporary entertainment for their agonizingly boring immortal existence, Achilles was too sure of it.

A whimper rose in his throat. He felt the cold, empty space beside him. Beside him was Patroclus’ perpetual place but he was gone, never to return. Achilles felt increasingly alone; everyone else he pushed away, they would never be enough of a replacement.

> **_When I thought that I fought this war alone  
>  You were there by my side on the frontline_ **

Patroclus had always been terrified of being on the battlefield itself. Agamemnon’s orders that all men were to attack may be the reason Patroclus put on the armor. But Achilles knew it wasn’t the truth. He knew the only reason Patroclus would even step into the enemy lines was to follow him, to be with him, even _in death, at the end of the world_.

And so Achilles swore to protect him. He had his eyes trained on Patroclus at all times, never once letting anyone get too close, tearing down men and weapon the moment they looked at Patroclus’ way.

> **_When I thought that I fought without a cause  
>  You gave me a reason to try_ **

_“Name one hero who was happy,”_ Achilles said.

Patroclus was silent, he knitted his brows together in deep concentration.

Achilled sighed, _“you can’t.”_

 _“I can’t,”_ Patroclus agreed.

Achilles leaned in, _“I’ll tell you a secret.”_

 _“Tell me,”_ Patroclus conceded.

_“I’m going to be the first, because you’re the reason. Swear it.”_

Patroclus looked at him, a little bit taken by surprise but Achilles saw the blushing color of rosebuds blooming on his cheeks.

 _“I swear it,”_ Patroclus said, his voice barely above a whisper.

> **_When I thought that I fought this war alone  
>  You were there by my side on the frontline  
>  And we fought to believe the impossible_ **

“How long will you allow this war to continue?” Achilles remembered the wise Odysseus had asked him once.

“ _Aristos achaion_ is already fighting for you,” he replied, though a cheeky grin plastered his face as he turned his adoring gaze towards Patroclus.

Achilles was not afraid of what was to come for him, not afraid of the price he paid for glory. But just a little while, maybe they could buy themselves just a little more time.

> **_When I thought that I fought this war alone  
>  We were one with our destinies entwined_ **

Odysseus had become a welcome guest. The wise king was a friend in a sea of known names and mere acquaintances. In Achilles’ tent, in the late night after Patroclus had been laid to rest among the flames, Odysseus came to him.

“How long will you let it last?”

This time, his answer was different. “It ends.”

> **_When I thought that I fought without a cause  
>  You gave me the reason why_ **

Achilles fought back tears and groaned as he steered himself out of bed.

_What has Hector ever done to me?_

Achilles bit his lower lip, his fists clenched at his side.

'This is what Hector has done to me.'

He thought of it, and he thought of the brave man leading the Trojans. Today, he would snatch respect out of the man, yes, even life out of him. Today he would collect his dues, today Hector would pay his debt.

> **_With no-one wearing their real face  
>  It's a whiteout of emotion  
>  And I've only got my brittle bones to break the fall_ **

Achilles never knew a satisfaction like the one he felt when he thrust his sword at Hector, and when the blade had buried deep within the Trojan prince’s flesh.

His armor was covered in blood and sweat and dust, but he could taste successful vengeance on his tongue. He licked his parched lips. He wondered why revenge tasted bitter. He spat out at Hector’s lifeless body at his feet, and though his eyes were clouded by rage and blinded by anger, he cast a long look at King Priam and all the pitiful Trojan spectators looking down with crippling fear from their impenetrable towers. He saw the prince Paris, holding on for composure despite the obvious soul-shattering pain and horror in his dark eyes.

He wanted them to see, to bear witness. He wanted them to know this was what it felt like to be cheated. He bound Hector’s body by the feet to his chariot and dragged the corpse all the way back to his tent, his lonely refuge.

Achilles looked at Hector’s charred, beaten, broken body. “Do you feel it, Hector? That is what it is like to have your very heart gouged out from your hollowed chest. All the way from the underworld, do you feel it, Hector?”

> **_When the love in letters fade  
>  It's like moving in slow motion  
>  And we're already too late if we arrive at all_ **

The sky was bleak and dreary that day. Perhaps it lamented the rising death toll of royal blood by Achilles’ merciless hands. He waited and waited for his prophesized downfall. It was his turn to pay and he was ready.

Achilles casted aside his shield and waved his sword in the air, daring anyone to come up to him and engage him in battle. But none dared, and everywhere he glanced, the soldiers seemed to shrink back away from him.

Achilles roared. “Is there no one else?”

Achilles stood in front of Troy’s majestic wide walls, the even bricks cut from smoothed limestone rose and overlapped to form erected structures of porches and turrets within the city.

High above, in one of the inner towers, Achilles looked and saw a figure perched by the windowsill. Something akin to steel glinted in that distance, and the figure seemed as if to be aiming at him.

Was it Paris or Apollo he saw, Achilles couldn’t tell. A quick flash of silver and something flew by him, and Achilles fell to the ground, an arrow piercing him where he was most vulnerable.

> **_And then we're caught up in the arms race  
>  An involuntary addiction  
>  And we're shedding every value our mothers taught_ **

He knew that Thetis, his sea nymph of a mother, and all the other maidens with her would wail in anguish. He knew their desolate, screeching wails were reserved for him.

He longed for the pyres that would send him off to the other side. He felt himself smile.

> **_So will you please show me your real face  
>  Draw the line in the horizon  
>  ‘Cause I only need your name to call the reasons why I fought_ **

He knew at last when death had come for him; he felt death as if a cold mist embracing him; he saw death as if a fog covering his eyes, obscuring his senses.

But one name remained on his lips, and he would die with that name on his lips.

_Philtatos._

Most beloved.

> **_When I thought that I fought this war alone..._ **

Maybe he was waiting at the other side, maybe they would be together again at long last, maybe… 

**Author's Note:**

> Song (lyrics in blockquote) is War by Poets of the Fall.


End file.
